


Forgotten Gods

by SaekoCrolla (Crollalanza)



Series: Sports Fest 2018 Haikyuu!! [29]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Gen, Magical Realism, myth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 12:04:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16062743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/SaekoCrolla
Summary: Kita's life on this earth is dependent on being remembered. But how can he ensure that when everyone in the end is forgotten?





	Forgotten Gods

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for SportsFest 2018 BR4   
> The prompt was a series of manga caps and the words...
> 
> Gods can only exist because they were born of people's wishes and desires. But a nameless one like you is different than gods like Vaisravana, so not even a single trace of you will remain in anyone's memories.
> 
> If he gets forgotten, he'll disappear.
> 
> I am different from you. I will keep my promises! Because I absolutely will not forget you!

She’s smaller these days, and he wonders if he’ll fade like that.  
  
_“Someone is watching, Shin-chan.”_  
  
But the gaze can fade. Over time the focus changes, the spark dies, leaving nothing but a charred spill.   
  
~~~  
  
The chance for immortality, he cannot garner alone. Diligence and duty become watchwords, a way of creating presence. When he’s not there, it’s a gape in the fabric around them, a tiny tear rippling in the wind. And he wonders if the butterfly wings really can cause a tornado.  
  
_A mortal at a monsters banquet,_  he tells them, but the truth is contrary. Their very mortality saves them, while he—the monster—is reliant on their brilliance. Granny watches from the stands. Surrounded by girls whose fans proclaim their adoration of the others, her shirt impresses his name on them all. A small attempt, but one that causes him to stand a little taller, to try a little harder.   
  
Mortality, he thinks, wouldn’t be so bad, but it’s not a choice he can make. There’s immortality or non-existence and the not knowing, the drifting, the very aimlessness of a spirit lost to the mist is anathema to him.   
  
  
It’s not Kita Shinsuke the crowd remember. It’s not his name they yell (in both admiration and frustration). He’s an afterthought, only becoming relevant when he steps on the court, replacing someone they’d previously cheered. But when he shows his worth, when the team regains its equilibrium, and they tighten the screw once more, a wave of admiration envelops him. He glances at Granny, and she smiles back, a little more vivid. As long as he is here, she will be too.   
  
The double edged sword is that he loathes attention.   
  
‘It could save you,’ debates the voice in his head.  
  
‘But it wouldn’t be me.’   
  
And besides, that type of adulation is over when the next flash of talent appears on court.  
  
  
He cries when he receives the Captain’s shirt, feeling himself unfurl like a flower, even as his eyes leak unexpected tears.  
  
‘You’re allowed to be happy!’ Aran yells. ‘There doesn’t need to be a reason, Shinsuke! Goddammit, you overanalyse everything!’  
  
He laughs and the sound sends Aran into further protestations. But Shinsuke knows the shirt prolongs his time, that every time he wears it, the line under the one underlines his existence.   
  
He has a year left here, a year to sew his life into the fabric of those around him. He’s not the embroidery, but the stitching that binds, strengthening the seams that knit them together.   
  
The easy route will be winning the final. He’ll give interviews, be beamed into people’s living rooms, immortalised on video, and somewhere, somehow he’ll become embedded in a swirl of subconscious.   
  
_The easy route._  
  
But he’s been brought up to earn his place and relying on others’ endeavours is a risk he cannot take.  
  
And it proves far from easy.  
  
  
He leaves the interview with the camera crew, knowing it’s not enough. A sportsman, a good loser, an eloquent speaker, but not memorable, not now that a boy with orange hair and one with the darkest of scowls and determination equal to Shinsuke’s boys, have taken their scalp and claimed the glory.   
  
(He stares at their Captain, and wonders if he’s another.)  
  
  
  
They’ve lost, and this will be where he starts to fade. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. Perhaps, despite losing, the high of the match masks the pain.  
  
‘We’ll be your juniors that you can be proud of, even up to when you have your own grandchildren,’ Atsumu blurts out.  
  
~~~  
  
In the changing room, someone nudges him, and then a hand grips his shoulder. ‘They’ll remember you,” Ren mutters. ‘And while there’s world enough for the Miyas, the world won’t forget you either.’  
  
He gulps back tears and gasps for breath as Ren’s words hit him with the force of a spike. ‘How do you know?’  
  
‘Because I’ve been watching you, Shin-chan,’ Ren replies. ‘Someone has to.’


End file.
